Oblivious
by Spring Zephyr
Summary: When Caspar realizes he has feelings for Linhardt, Dorothea tries her best to coach him through a confession. Pre-timeskip.


**Another case of "my original idea was estimated at around 1.5k words, then it snowballed out of control". Admittedly, I have no idea what this means for everyone's characterization.**

**No editing because I don't want to edit right now, haha.**

"Linhardt."

It was strange how a single word, and one he'd said multiple times in the past, could suddenly leave Caspar breathless. He wasn't normally a nervous person either.

He wasn't the type of person to puff up his chest and practice the same lines over and over, like an actor memorizing lines for a grand performance. That was more Dorothea's thing. In fact, Dorothea was the one who'd helped him practice. But as Caspar was just now realizing, having Dorothea pretend to be Linhardt was a great deal different than watching Linhardt actually be Linhardt, regardless of how close her acting had been.

"Uh, Linhardt," Caspar tried again. "Would you like to get something to eat?"

Behind him, he swore he heard Dorothea groan. Linhardt lifted his head from his arms, regarding Caspar with dark, heavy-lidded eyes. There was a thin trickle of drool on his chin, that he didn't bother wiping away, and the end of his ponytail was a little disheveled after having been accidentally used as a pillow for the better part of the day.  
Even though he slept through most of their lessons, Linhardt had never failed a class, and despite helping Caspar study on numerous occasions, the secret explanation as to why remained a mystery. Caspar supposed that just meant he was unusually smart.

"Quaint," Linhardt mumbled. After yawning, he appeared slightly more awake. "We've been friends all these years, yet this is the first time you've deigned to ask?"

"What? We've eaten together before!"

"Eaten together, yes. Asked to eat together? Not so much."

Caspar watched as the last remaining Eagles filtered out of the room. Bernadetta had been the first to leave, of course. Ferdinand had lingered a little longer than usual. Now it was just himself, Linhardt, and Dorothea, who seemed to be glaring at him.

"Perhaps you'd like to invite Dorothea as well?" Linhardt drawled. "She's our friend too."

He imagined a world in which Dorothea, annoyed, pushed him out of the way and ask Linhardt out herself. "Pretend I'm Caspar," she'd say, similar to how she'd practiced with Caspar.

"A-actually, I was hoping we could go as more than friends – "

"Oh, my mistake. _Best_ friends," Linhardt replied with a charming grin. "Sorry, Dorothea, I suppose you're not invited after all. Now if you'll excuse me," he stood up, this time with a tired yawn instead of a just waking up yawn, "I really must stop at the library before bed."

It was barely noon.

Their entire class was scheduled to use the training yard in less than two marks.

Caspar watched him leave, dumbfounded. "Maybe he's just not interested," he muttered to Dorothea, who'd stopped lingering behind him as soon as Linhardt left.

The butterflies in his stomach had dissolved, thankfully. The bad news was that so had everything else – it felt as though there was nothing left inside of him. That feeling would probably go away too, once he got over a shock.

"Caspar," Dorothea replied. The manner with which she spoke was sweet, but the tone was sharp with the edge of a challenge. "Have you ever thought about learning to serenade?"

X

"Are you sure this will work?"

"It does in operas," Dorothea sniffed.

"But does it work in _real life_?" Caspar inquired.

He'd thought about it for a really long time, and realized that Dorothea, despite her bountiful list of admirers and past and current lovers, had not approached a single one of them by singing in their faces. It was a similar story with Syvlain, whom Caspar was thinking about approaching next if the serenading didn't work out, and Lorenz, who was a last resort. Maybe it worked for Manuela?

"Caspar, dear, operas are a dramatization of real life. You like being loud and dramatic, don't you?"

"Sure do!"

His palms were a little sweaty, but he perked up at the words "loud" and "dramatic".

"Then this method will work perfectly for you. Remember what I taught you, and let the song guide your voice."

She sounded pretty confident, so Caspar cleared his voice and prepared to sing – and did not get past the first line, _"your hair is as soft as cornsilk"_, when the door to Linhardt's room flew open. Dorothea was covering her ears. Caspar didn't know why, because it wasn't like Linhardt was the yelling type.  
"Go to bed, Caspar," Linhardt sighed.

See? No yelling at all!

"But I didn't get to finish my song!" Caspar yelled back.

"What kind of song?" Linhardt asked.

He sounded perplexed. Caspar wished he could see Linhardt's face to make sure, visual confirmation and all that, see to believe.

"It's a lo… l… l..."

Caspar tried to yell, but his voice tripped on the word "love".

"...Local folk song?" Linhardt suggested.

Dorothea's hands moved from her ears to her temples. She appeared to be massaging a headache out of them.

"A lo… looooo..."

"Did you bite your tongue?" Linhardt asked. "Perhaps the 'l' is supposed to be an 'r'… A rock song?"

Caspar squeaked, wordlessly. "I wrote the lyrics myself!" he replied, squeaking again.

"Ah, that must be it then. That style of music does suit you, Caspar, though I'm afraid it doesn't appeal to me in quite the same way. Good luck with your band!"

As the door shut behind him, Caspar sulked. "Why does he think we're starting a band?"

"More importantly," sighed Dorothea, "why did you begin screaming?"

"You said to let the song guide my voice," he reminded her.

"And before that I said to remember what I taught you. Caspar, you were supposed to sing like we practiced."

"Oh."

Caspar blinked.  
"Don't worry, Dorothea! Tomorrow's another moonlit night! Operation 'romantic moonlight serenade' isn't cancelled yet!"

"Actually, I think it's for the best if it is," Dorothea replied.

Poor Bernadetta, who resided just a few doors down and had never been subject to Caspar's horrible singing before, was probably convinced there'd been a demon yowling at her window already. It would take a week to encourage her back out of her room, not to mention how furious Edelgard would be if she found out they were the ones who'd woken up everyone on the first floor.

"I'll think of a different plan."

X

While Dorothea followed through on her promise think of a different plan, Caspar decided it was finally time to pay a visit to Sylvain. Caspar found him sitting alone in the dining hall, which seemed weird, considering how the other boy constantly bragged about being surrounding by flocks of pretty girls.

So Caspar filled his own plate and sat next to him, because, aside from needing advice, sitting alone just plain sucked.

"What makes girls like you?" Caspar asked, after a solid minute of uncomfortable silence.

"My impeccable spear work," Sylvain replied, without missing a beat.

It was probably the first thing Sylvain had ever said to him. Like, ever. They didn't interact on a normal day, which might have explained why talking to Sylvain was so much easier than talking to Dorothea had been. Or maybe it was the fact that Sylvain wasn't as forceful as Dorothea had been. He still remembered how that conversation had gone –

She'd interrogated him after catching him staring at Linhardt for a second too long. Caspar had denied it, red-faced and stuttering.

Dorothea hadn't believed him, for some reason, even though Caspar could very clearly remember yelling, "I don't like Linhardt! I don't want to hold his hand or take naps together or brush his hair away from his ears while he sleeps or anything!"

Strange. He'd thought that was a very plausible denial, which covered all of the bases.  
Though he supposed it was also completely irrelevant right now.

"So if I learn how to use a spear, I can win the heart of any girl I want?" Caspar asked.

Sylvain laughed, but Caspar wasn't sure why.

There was also the matter of Linhardt being a boy, and not a girl, but why should that make any difference? Unless boys were more impressed by punching things, but if that were the case, Caspar was already excellent at punching and there'd be no reason Linhardt wasn't already tripping over his own feet for him!

"That was a joke. What you really need is… a great sense of humor, a dash of mystery, and the right opening lines."

Linhardt called him loud and obnoxious all of the time, which called his sense of humor into question, even though he usually did it with a smile. They'd known each other too long for there to be any mystery left between them, and Caspar wasn't sure what Sylvain even meant by _opening lines_. Lines, like the lines on a horse track? But if he opened the lines on a horse track, what would that accomplish? Aside from probably confusing a bunch of people.

Seeing the way Caspar frowned, Sylvain sighed and tried again, "Just compliment her a lot."

"Okay. Thanks, Sylvain!"

And then he began shoveling food in his mouth at a pace that could've won any horse race, while simultaneously making Sylvain regret having opened his mouth at all.

X

From that point forward, Caspar complimented Linhardt every chance he got, hoping Linhardt would take the hint soon:

"You look well-rested as usual, Linhardt!"

"Good job closing that gaping chest wound, Linhardt! I know you don't like blood, but there was so much of it I thought you were going to pass out and Hubert was going to die!"

"You're so smart, Linhardt! I don't think anyone else could slack off during class that much and get away with it!"

It was a lot easier than stating his feelings outright, but it seemed to annoy his main romantic advisor, Dorothea. A lot.

"Whenever you've finished goofing around," she approached him after class again one day, "and I do hope you finish before you've ruined your chances altogether, I've come up with a new plan."

"All right!"

Caspar didn't let the part about ruining his chances get him down. Dorothea had probably found out he'd asked Sylvain for advice one time instead of her, and was a little upset about it. He thought Sylvain's idea was going well enough.

But it was also taking forever, and Caspar was willing to try something new if it meant he could hold Linhardt's hand and take naps together and brush his hair back a little sooner. Maybe use the two plans in conjuction to speed things up even more!

"The serenading was clearly a bad idea – I thought a flashy confession might match your flashy personality, but alas. I over-estimated you."

"You mean under-estimated, right?"

"No."

Well.

Okay.

"So I thought to myself – I thought really, really hard. Caspar can read and write. He _can_ read and write, can't he? He wrote that ill-advised song on his own, so he must be capable."

"I am!" Caspar replied enthusiastically. "And Lin likes doing at least one of those things, soooo I like where this plan is going!"

"Excellent!" Dorothea clapped her hands together, then clasped them together, in front of her chest. "Caspar, I'm going to help you compose a love letter."

"...Can I show him my spearwork instead?"

Dorothea blinked. "Um. No. Caspar, you don't even use spears?"

"True, but I'm thinking I should learn."

"My method is simpler, I promise," Dorothea promised.

Considering how her last two promises had turned out, Caspar wondered if he should be a little more wary – or third time's the charm, as they always said!

"It's foolproof. You can write as many drafts as you want, and there's no need risk of freezing up in front of your crush," Dorothea continued. "Once the letter is finished, you just… slide it under their door and wait. Simple! And if you're too nervous to sign your own name, don't sign it at all. Most people like finding they have a secret admirer."

"Yeah," Caspar agreed. "Sounds like a great idea."

They spent the rest of the day, from late noon until the first brush strokes of dusk appeared in the sky, composing such a letter. Three cookie breaks (for Caspar), some mild swearing (also Caspar), and a small mountain of crumpled papers later, Caspar held the finished letter in his hands.

The end result was a note so well-worded, it was almost elegant in its simplicity:  
_Dear Linhardt,_

_I really, really like you._

"Are you going to sign it?" Dorothea asked, peering at the letter one last time before Caspar folded it. If she was even a little upset over having spent so much time to end up with only two lines of writing, she didn't show it.

"I'm going to burn it," Caspar replied miserably.  
"Oh, dear. Don't do that..."

"Maybe Linhardt doesn't like me," Caspar muttered to his desk. Dorothea was seated next to him again, but he much preferred talking to the slightly scuffed wood at the moment. "Okay, I know he likes me, but maybe he doesn't _like_ me – because Linhardt is really, really smart, and there's no way he hasn't figured it out by now."

"Drop it off as an anonymous love letter, all right?" Dorothea suggested. "Although I'm certain Linhardt would prefer a more straightforward approach… I'll leave the decision up to you. Have a good night, Caspar."

Reluctantly, Caspar returned the farewell. If he stayed in Dorothea's room any longer – and this was certainly not the first time he'd found himself in her quarters, pouring out his feelings in the late hours of the night – someone was bound to notice. On the bright side, false rumors about him and Dorothea being involved couldn't hurt his chances any more than Linhardt not being interested would.

X

When Caspar saw Linhardt strolling into the Black Eagle's common room the next day, he thought he would explode. For starters, Linhardt rarely arrived to class early, and in fact preferred to be at least five minutes late most of the time, to squeeze in a few more precious minutes of sleeping with on a pillow instead of his textbooks for a large portion of the day.

Then Linhardt sat next to him, calmly laid all of his paper pillows on the table, and responded with surprising normalcy to all of Caspar's awkward attempts at making conversation. Linhardt had never expressed an interest in acting, but the complete disregard he gave to Caspar's sputtering, sweaty palms, and rose-colored cheeks couldn't possibly be genuine. Petra even offered to walk him to the infirmary, and Linhardt's only response was to wave his hand and mumble something about how Caspar's appetite often lead him to eating things he shouldn't.

And throughout all of this, Caspar began to think maybe that feeling of being about to explode would fade.

It never did. Not really.

He remained seated, uncharacteristically, when the professor announced lunch break. At his side, Linhardt stretched, arms reaching far above Caspar's head. The corners of his eyes appeared watery from the yawn he failed to supress.

"I'll grab something from the dining hall for you," Linhardt said.

Caspar didn't decline the offer. He didn't say much of anything, and Linhardt left the room without expecting him to. One of the perks of their friendship was that Caspar could say a lot without having to actually, well, speak.

As soon as Linhardt left, Dorothea took his place.

"I see you've got something on your mind," she started, smoothing down the fabric of her skirt. She smiled in a way that was probably supposed to be comforting, but made Caspar's insides twist instead.

"I should've burned that letter," Caspar moaned. Suddenly, he'd developed an interest in the swirling wood grains on his desk.

"You actually sent it!" Dorothea cheered. Caspar's lack of response didn't deter her excitement. "How did you do it? A hand delivery is probably out of the question, but sliding it under his door in the dead of the night? Or perhaps you slid it into his bookbag while he wasn't looking? Do you know if he's read it yet?"

"I don't want to talk about it. And I don't know."

"Aw, Cassie. He didn't reject you, did he?"

Surprisingly, it was the nickname that put his nerves a little more at ease. She'd had months to give him one, and waited until just now to do so?

"How could he reject me?" Caspar asked. "I didn't sign the letter."

"Well, with how long the two of you have been friends, I've no doubt he can recognize your handwriting."

"Dorothea!"

"I thought you needed a bit of help. If you didn't notice on your own, I decided not to point it out for you." He was already in the middle of protesting, but Dorothea spoke over him. "The two of you have been friends for years. He won't hate you."

"You don't know that!"

Dorothea folded her hands on her lap and sighed. "As a matter of fact, I do."

Something about the defeated look on her face caused Caspar to shut his mouth. It would not, Caspar surmised, be impossible for Dorothea to be speaking from experience right now.

But she didn't provide him with a story from her own life, or a similar experience about a friend who didn't return her feelings, but everything turned out okay in the end. Dorothea wrung her hands harder and said, "Things wouldn't have gotten so awkward if you had been straightforward from the beginning. Linhardt could never hate you, for starters."

"It'd make being my friend really awkward."

"Suppose you weren't friends? He has a tendency toward the same sex. In Fodlan, among Crest bearing nobility, that means Linhardt would know as well as anyone the pain of having your feelings scorned."

"But that doesn't mean – "

He caught a glimpse of Linhardt in the corner of his vision, and immediately his hands joined Dorothea's in being folded on his lap. The grain lines of his desk became interesting again. Captivating. Instead of sitting around and waiting for Linhardt to return, he should've gotten on the floor and done a few pushups. Or a short jog around the campus. Anything to burn some of that nervous energy and maybe justify the frenetic beating of his heart.

"Doesn't mean what?" Linhardt replied, sliding into place on Caspar's other side. If Caspar had glanced in his direction at all, he would've noticed Linhardt doing much the same – avoiding looking at him. "Dorothea. Had I known you'd been hanging around Caspar again, I would've brought you something as well."

"Don't worry about it, Lin."

"Nothing! It doesn't mean anything!"

"Oh, and suffice to say, I, too, would've recommended being your usual gung-ho self from the beginning."

"How much of that conversation did you hear?!"

"Suppose I didn't have, as Dorothea puts it, a tendency toward the same sex?"

"No, really – how long have you been listening?"

"I've put up with countless numbers of your antics throughout the years. I hold you personally responsible for my dislike of both blood and exercise, and for the death of my pet cat when I was ten." As if that weren't bad enough, Caspar was quick to let out a series of strangled protests as he continued, "You wet the bed once, when we were children, and I accepted the blame so your father would spare you from punishment."

Dorothea snickered. It quickly turned into a pained hiss when Caspar jabbed her arm, harder than intended, but she could pay him back later if she wanted. For now, Dorothea was content to rub the sore spot and glare at him, with Linhardt prattling onward, uninterrupted.

"Ever since then, you cry even harder when it storms, and I can't get a moment of rest if we're in the same building and it starts to sprinkle. Aside from that, you're loud, brash, and possess enough energy for _three_ of me – and you still think there's anything in this world that could possibly ruin our friendship?"

He finally stopped, gauging the reaction from Caspar, the pinched look from Dorothea. With a sigh, Linhardt apologized, "I'm sorry, Caspar. I didn't mean to go so far overboard."

"You didn't try very hard not to either," Caspar grumbled.

It was like Dorothea said, though. They were friends. Caspar wasn't going to end it over one outburst, because their friendship meant more to him than that. Besides, everyone believed Caspar was the more emotional of the two, but – he could retaliate with some embarrassing stories of his own, if he really wanted to.

Like how the sheltered Linhardt didn't realize meat came from animals until Caspar told him so, and how long it had taken him to come to terms afterwards. Or the first time he'd overheard his aunt claiming he'd never make a good heir and cried, because she'd called him a good for nothing and accurately predicted his _inability to marry _too many years ahead of time. He was the one who apologized to other nobles when Linhardt offended them with his eccentricities, the one who made sure Linhardt was dressed acceptably for parties, and the person who carried him back to his bedroom when he inevitably fell asleep at them. Worse, still, was the time Linhardt had been missing for just a few minutes too long. Caspar had tracked him down eventually, to where he'd somehow managed to fall asleep on the toilet.

"So," Linhardt muttered. He always had been better composed than Caspar, although in their current situation that simply meant he looked a little less flushed in the cheeks. "Would you like to, perhaps, share a meal with me?"

"As… as friends?" Caspar asked. "Wait, no, Linhardt, didn't you just get back from the cafeteria?"

"Like we rehearsed, Linhardt," Dorothea sighed.

It was obvious the two liked each other, or Dorothea would have never agreed to help _both_ of them.

**Even though I wrote a 3.6k fanfiction about Caspar and Linhardt, I'm still undecided about who to ship Caspar with.**


End file.
